Muse
by you'vegotthis
Summary: Angst-free sexy banter contained within. Turns out Kate is not just a writer's muse. Deep breaths everyone, deep breaths, a few more hours until Always, just doing my part to calm the fandom.


He sent a picture of it to her phone.

"Crap," was her one and only response, she dropped what she was doing to dial his number.

He didn't pick up.

_Where are you?_ She texted instead.

_Come find me_, came the instant response.

She both hated and loved it when he was playful.

She noted the time, 5:30. This was no coincidence; he'd wanted her to eat dinner with him every night now that Alexis was gone. She was pretty sure he thought that food was somehow a gateway to a romp in the bedroom.

He was right, but she certainly wasn't going to tell him that.

She shut down her computer, sighed at the enormous amount of paperwork she was leaving behind and slipped on her coat.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

He'd left the door open for her, music turned up far too loud. She watched him as she dropped her things in the doorway. He was obviously enjoying his little solo dancing and cooking show. She loved her boy-man, loved that he made her feel lighter at the end of the day.

She slipped in one the chairs at the bar and waited for him to notice.

"Born this wayyyyykaaate," his singing interrupted by his sudden awareness of her presence.

"Hey." He leaned over the counter to kiss her quickly. He tasted like bell peppers.

"Watcha making me Stud?"

He closed his eyes and savored the moment, "Making you hot, that's what I'm making you."

"Hmm, maybe."

"What do you mean maybe? I slave over a hot stove all day, barefoot and possibly pregnant and this is how you treat me?"

She rolled her eyes.

He'd gotten the reaction he wanted. Popped another piece of pepper in his mouth and showed off his agility by flipping the food in the pan using a flick of his wrist.

"So, where is it?" She asked ignoring his antics.

"Where is what?"

"You know what."

"Can't imagine what you're talking about." He was gloating. Lauding it over her. Never mind, she had her own ways of getting it out of him.

"Can I have a glass of wine?" She asked disarmingly.

While he pulled down a glass from the cupboard, she stood and took off her coat, stepped back a few feet so she was fully in view when he turned around.

"Kaaaaaate," he poured wine all over the counter when he realized she was standing in front of him.

Naked.

"Huh, huh, huh," his deepest throaty laugh matched the seductive smile and eye waggle he was giving her. He started to make his way around the counter when she stopped him with an outstretched arm and her words.

"Remember now?"

"Remember what?" She knew he couldn't think when she was naked.

"I want that painting."

"Oh Kate, I want that painting too." He started a seductive stalking toward her.

"Well you are going to have to make a choice mister," she took a step back, picked up her coat, "the painting or the muse."

"Well played detective," he admired her aplomb.

She had her coat on before he could reach her. Placed two fingers on his chest keeping him at a distance as he leaned in to try to kiss her at her arm's length. She gave him her evil eye.

"Choose."

"Come on Kate. Just let me have it, you know how much I admire art."

"Castle, you and I both know that isn't art. That is a college painting class modeling job for which I got paid a whopping $50."

"I'd pay you $50 to pose for me."

Now she tilted her head and changed her stance. Her eyes narrowed. He recognized that look, she was going to kill him.

"Are you saying you would pay me to prostitute myself?"

"Kate, no," he stumbled over his words, "not at all. You are a smart, no brilliant person. You would never need to, I would never pay to . . ." finally he stopped, turned on his puppy-dog eyes and whispered, "you're pretty."

She laughed.

He took advantage and pulled her in to kiss her long and slow.

He broke the kiss with a comical, "its burning" and ran to the kitchen.

"What about my painting?" she called after him.

"You're the detective, go detect something." He was awash in steam and pulling his hands from the heat of the stove to check on the food.

He had hung it in his office.

Directly across from his desk on a tiny hook that was supposed to be holding some prized knick-knack.

"You were not really going to hang it there?" She said stepping back out to the living room, prize in hand.

"That way I could see you when I was writing."

She examined the painting, it was her alright, stark naked, reclining, elbow holding up her head.

"Where did you find this?"

"I bought it from the artist."

It really wasn't a good enough painting to be hanging in any gallery, she was highly suspicious.

"You have a contact at Stanford, don't you?"

He was plating the food, trying to ignore the truth of her interrogation questions. Don't make eye contact. She always got him with her eye-sex.

"You found out about art classes and hunted down people who took them."

He carried the food to the table, didn't look her in the eye as he passed by.

"Look Kate, food, why don't you take off your coat and join me."

"Ha," she said flatly.

"Okay, you are right, I tracked it down. That's not really my fault Kate, after all, if you didn't want me to find it, you should never have mentioned it at all. You've been training me all this time to be a junior homicide detective. You were practically begging for me to find it." Oops, he was pretty sure he shouldn't have used the word _begging_.

"I will tell you what," she said softening, letting her lips get tantalizingly close, "I am going to take this little embarrassment off your hands, and in exchange, if you promise to never look for another one," she eyed him brutally, "I will be your muse."

"Kate, you have been my muse for four years."

Her smile dropped, she lifted her brows and said in a threatening tone, "And are you allowed to call me that?"

He visibly swallowed, "no."

"What did I say would happen if you called me that?"

"You said you would break both my legs."

"Good, now, aren't you glad we had this little chat."

He leaned in, "yes?"

"Good boy, now, help me take my coat off, I'm starving."

A/N: I know, hideous. I'm going to wake up in the morning hating myself for writing this. I frequently have reading and writing hangovers. I've thought about a twelve step, but I haven't yet convinced myself that I am powerless against my disease. In a few hours 'Always' is going to finally happen and I need the distraction, I'll return you to a respectable level of writing after I recover. If you or someone you know is addicted to reading or writing fanfic, press the button below to leave a review . . .


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